


Say Please

by sparklesdani (dgsm11)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Begging, Crying, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 10:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgsm11/pseuds/sparklesdani
Summary: Detective Hammer hums, taking his time to respond. He stands, stripping out of his trench coat and tossing it over the back of his chair. Timothee can’t help but take in the sight of the detective in a crisp white button-down with the stark contrast of a black leather shoulder holster. His shirt is unbuttoned just far enough for a glimpse of dark chest hair against tanned skin. Timothee has just looked down far enough to see a bulge in tight slacks when the detective clears his throat and Timothee jerks his eyes up, immediately flushing at the thought he’s been caught.





	Say Please

**Author's Note:**

> This plot isn't realistic, but that's okay because it's porn! This is dedicated to all the lovelies in my group chat who encouraged this and looked it over for me. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Timothee kicks the concrete ground in front of him, wincing when he hits his knee on the metal table. He sighs and shifts his hands behind his back. These are definitely the real deal handcuffs and not the cheap sex store kind he’s used to and can break out of quickly. Not that he knows what he’d do if he broke out of them. He’s being detained in jail and he doesn’t even know why and he’s definitely too pretty to go to jail...

His rambling thoughts are interrupted when the door buzzes open and Timothee looks up and up and up. He hopes he’s not drooling as he looks over the handsome blond in a tan trench coat. It should seem cheesy, but on him it looks sexy.

“Hello, I’m Detective Hammer. You must be Mr. Chal-Chala...” The detective stumbles over Timothee’s last name.

“Chalamet,” Timothee corrects him. “It’s French. My friends call me Timmy. You can call me Timothee.”

Detective Hammer cocks an eyebrow as he takes a seat across from Timothee and places a folder on the table between them. “Do you know why you’re here, Timothee?”

Timothee huffs and sprawls even more in the seat. “No! I was heading home from my shift and next thing I know I’m being handcuffed and detained. No one has told me anything.”

Detective Hammer opens the folder to a picture and turns it to face Timothee. 

Timothee hopes his poker face holds as he looks over the tattooed face and instantly recognizes him. He shrugs the best he can while he’s still handcuffed. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“We’re hoping you do. Our intelligence shows that you’ve been seen around town with this man.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you. What do you want him for, Mr. Hammer?” Timothee hopes he sounds innocently curious.

Detective Hammer hums, taking his time to respond. He stands, stripping out of his trench coat and tossing it over the back of his chair. Timothee can’t help but take in the sight of the detective in a crisp white button-down with the stark contrast of a black leather shoulder holster. His shirt is unbuttoned just far enough for a glimpse of dark chest hair against tanned skin. Timothee has just looked down far enough to see a bulge in tight slacks when the detective clears his throat and Timothee jerks his eyes up, immediately flushing at the thought he’s been caught.

“Armie,” the detective says.

“W-what?” Timothee asks, flustered.

“You can call me Armie. Mr. Hammer is my father.” The detective walks around and leans against the table on Timothee’s side, crossing his ankles in front of him.

“Oh. Okay. Armie.” Timothee blinks, feeling unsettled for the first time since being brought him.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I had the cameras turned off for this interview so no one will know. And I hope if I’m honest with you, you’ll be honest with me.” Armie pokes his finger at the photograph on the table. “This man is well known in the drug trade. If we can bring him down, it’ll put a huge dent in drug trafficking in the city. The problem is that we only know him as Z. The man is nothing but a ghost. His associates are slippery. You’re the first one we’ve caught.”

Timothee gulps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wish I could help, but I don’t know who he is.”

Armie tsks, looking disappointed in Timothee. “I was honest with you, Timmy. It’s a shame you can’t be honest back.” He flips to another page in the folder, revealing another picture - this time a candid one of Timothee kissing Z. 

Timmy flushes and averts his gaze. “Where did you get that?”

“Not important. What is important is that you’re lying to me.”

“I...”

“Come on, Timmy,” Armie drawls. “We can be friends, can’t we? Tell me who he is and you can walk out scot free. Back to your boring life as a college student who works at a coffee shop”

Timmy bristles at the insult. “I won’t be a snitch for you. You’re not getting anything out of me.”

Armie sighs, standing up to his full height above Timmy. “That’s a shame. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.”

Timmy looks up, glancing at Armie’s bulge that’s eye level with him now before glaring up at his face. “Fuck you.”

Armie’s lips curl up into a sly smirk. “You see something you like, don’t you? I bet I know how to get it out of you, Timmy.”

“You can try,” Timmy spits.

Armie kicks Timmy’s legs apart, standing in between them. “You think I look good, don’t you? Are you already getting hard for me?”

“W-what?” Timmy stares at Armie with wide eyes.

“I’ll give you something, you’ll give me something. Fair trade, right?” He cups Timmy through his jeans.

“Fuck,” Timmy curses, rocking up into Armie’s hand against his best judgement. His shoulders pull back and he hisses as the handcuffs scrape against his skin.

“That’s what I thought.” Armie smirks as he shoves Timmy’s sweater up and unbuttons his jeans, pulling out his half hard cock. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

“Armie,” Timmy gasps. “What are you doing?”

Armie doesn’t respond, he just starts stroking Timmy’s cock, making the younger boy hiss at the dryness. He doesn’t stop though, continuing to stroke Timmy until he’s leaking precome and gasping in his seat. 

Armie frowns when a drop of precome hits his cuff and he pulls back, leaving Timmy stunned.

“What happened?” Timmy blinks up at the detective slowly. 

“Can’t get dirty, can we?” Armie says as he starts rolling up his sleeves.

Timmy licks his lips as Armie’s hairy forearms are revealed. “Come on, please,” he whines.

“Be patient,” Armie scolds. He takes his time rolling up his sleeves, smirking to himself as Timmy writhes in the chair. Finally, he takes Timmy in hand again, grinning when the younger man moans out loud.

He keeps stroking Timmy at a steady pace until the man is panting and sweating, curls stuck to his forehead.

“Armie. Armie, I’m gonna...”

Armie squeezes at the base of Timmy’s cock and then lets go.

“No, no, please, come on, I was so close. Please, please, please.”

“What’s his name?” Armie asks, leaning away from Timmy.

“What? Who?”

“The man in the photographs.”

Timmy blinks, trying to remember why he was here in the first place. He stiffens in his seat once he remembers. “No. Not telling you.”

“Okay then.” Armie wraps his hand around Timmy and brings him to the edge again before letting go. He does this twice more until Timmy is nearly sobbing as he lets go.

“Okay, okay, fuck,” Timmy rasps, his throat raw from crying out. “His name is Miller. He’s my ex-boyfriend. Now get me off, _please_.”

Armie reaches out and wipes his hand on Timmy’s jeans, then walks out the door.

Stunned, Timmy just stares at the closed door, not sure what just happened. He jumps in his seat when the intercom in the room statics to life.

“I need more information than that, Timmy. I know you can be good and tell me everything you know,” Armie’s voice comes in.

Armie is on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching Timmy. Now that he’s alone he takes the time to really take in the view. Timmy’s face is flushed and red, his curls plastered to his forehead. His forest green jumper is stretched out at the neck, nearly falling off one shoulder and showing off his pale collarbone. His cock is dark red and leaking steadily onto his stomach.

“Armie, come on, please. I gave you his name. Please,” Timmy begs, looking frantically at the mirror, but Armie doesn’t respond. “Please. Armie, I gave you something. You promised.”

Timmy humps his hips up into the air, fruitlessly searching for friction. His wrists have been rubbed raw at this point and he’s sure it’s starting to bleed. “Please, Armie. Fuck. I’ll give you whatever you want, okay? Just come back here.”

Still, Armie doesn’t respond. 

Timmy sobs with need, tears actually starting to streak down his face. “Fine! He lives on the East side of town. He has a warehouse down by the docks where he stores everything. I can take you there, I promise. Please, sir,” Timmy gasps.

Armie smirks and takes his time walking back into the room. He kneels in front of Timmy, just looking at the boy for a minute. “Thank you for being a good boy.” He wraps his hand around Timmy’s straining cock and starts jerking him off again.

It only takes a few strokes and Timmy is choking on a sob as he comes all over himself and Armie’s fist. He pants, head thrown back and he doesn’t resist when Armie holds up his filthy hand to clean.

Once Armie’s hand is clean, he tucks Timmy back into his jeans and pats his cheek. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together because I think you have even more information for me.”

Timmy groans and acts like his dick doesn’t twitch with interest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like it, let me know! I might try to write some more because dang they're good together.


End file.
